Page 7 of The Heart We Guard
“Smoke,” I say while blood pools in my hands, and I realize I’ve been shot in both my abdomen and my shoulder.
“Hold on, Prez. I’ve got you,” Smoke says as he careens onto the road. “We’ll get you help.”
“No,” I say. “Not…safe.” If this is the end of my life, I don’t want to spend it in a sterile ward where I’m handcuffed to the bed for what’s left of the rest of my life. I’ve done a short stretch in prison; I’m not doing another.
Smoke glances over at me. “Yeah, Butcher. It is. Better you’re alive for another day.”
Every part of me hurts, and my voice shakes. Shock is setting in. “Can’t face…a cage. Tell Em…Tell her I love her.”
“Fuck you, Butcher. You aren’t dying. Not to-fucking-day.”
“Don’t…do this…” I see the swirling blue lights and know he’s approaching a major downtown hospital.
“And what’s the alternative, Prez? Sitting in the van while you struggle to breathe?”
Smoke jumps out of the car as soon as he’s stationary and runs to the passenger side.
“No,” I say, trying my faded best to stop Smoke.
“What the hell are you doing?” asks a woman in pale blue scrubs. Her thick white-blonde hair is pulled back into a bun. She’s been crying. Her eyes red. Maybe she just lost a patient. “You’re going to kill him, jostling him around like that.”
“You a doctor?” Smoke asks, and I shake my head at the obviousness of his question.
“Was,” she says, but her eyes narrow on me, like she’s already assessing what she’d do to save me. “He’s bleeding out. Lie him down. Keep him right there.”
“No,” I manage to force out. “No hospital. I’ll…pay you.”
Smoke’s warm hand grips tightly around my cold one. “Let her do what she needs to.”
“One hundred thousand dollars, and you won’t have to step inside.” She raises an eyebrow, as if testing me.
“Done,” I say. And if I’m dead, I won’t be around to pay it.
“Shit,” she mumbles. “You were supposed to agree to go inside instead. I don’t want your money.”
“Fuck me.” At Smoke’s grumbled words, I close my eyes. When I do, I see Ember. She’s four, sitting on the swing at the back of the house. She’s got pink ribbons in her hair, and they flutter back and forth on the breeze.
She’s also crying because me and her mom are fighting.
Again.
Because I slept with a club girl.
Again.
God, I messed up my life.
And I’m going to die on this asphalt watching a mental cinema reel of my fuck ups.
“Fuck.” I hiss when a heavy pressure lands right over the bullet hole in my gut. The pain is so overwhelming, I don’t hear what the woman says next.
“What proof do I have that you won’t kill him?” Smoke asks.
She rolls her eyes. “I spent my entire life, this far, trying to become the best possible doctor I could be. Would be a shame to kill someone now.”
Smoke pulls out his gun. “You can help him right here.”
“Then I need some supplies from inside the hospital.”
